Slackers gon' Slack

That sleep thing - yeah - it didn't happen. Dogs, a million phone calls, and some meter man kept me from getting the sleep I needed. Then, I went to dinner in Savannah in order to imbibe some peach tea. The idea was to get another caffeine high going on, and maybe get something done. This did not happen, but I totally saw Paula Deen. She looks just like she does on TV. It was strange. 

So, here's another cop out post. I wrote this last may, and I'm not even reading it before I post. Therefore, I genuinely do not know what it says in any sort of detail. I hope it's not terrible. It is a first person narrative. Enjoy!

As for me and my house, we're going to bed.

Sleep: My Wonderdrug Source

6-5-11

I am in Crescent City at the moment and I have come to the conclusion that it may well be one of the most beautiful places in the world, in it’s own way.

When I come home, I always make it a point to take a driving tour of the city. Sometimes this includes outlying areas, but it always means that I drive around the back streets of Crescent City proper. If you were to pass through our quaint little hamlet, like so many other small towns in Florida, if you were to blink, you would miss it. 

The city limits consist of what lies between Lake Stella and Lake Crescent along three miles of US Highway 17. I am not currently aware of how many people make up the local population, but suffice it to say that it’s so few people that everyone knows everyone and the inner workings of one another’s lives. 

You would think that this would create a nice, close knit community, but that has not been my personal reality. I like to think that it’s some sort of time warped bastion of “the good old days” but there was really nothing good about them to begin with.

If nothing else, my driving tour always includes the street that leads to Winn Dixi. There’s nothing particularly special about this road, and yet everything is special about it. It leads from CR 308 past a couple of low income apartment complexes – one of which my sister used to live in with her dad – when she they moved up in the world from the trailer park. 

After that, there is a four way stop that I am truly surprised I’ve never been in a wreck at. It’s one of those stop signs that no one thinks to stop at. It may as well not even be there. I say it’s a four way stop – but it’s really only a four way to me. The intersecting street has stop signs, but I stop no matter which way I am traveling because no one else observes traffic laws at this intersection. 

After the intersection, on the left hand side of the street is the municipal cemetery. I don’t usually stop in and visit, I just drive by to make sure it’s still there. I don’t know where it would go, but I guess  I worry. I’m not real keen on change. Cemeteries are great for people like me in that respect, the only thing that ever really changes is that it fills up over time.

Dear Friends and Gentle Readers, I'll give you another snippet of this the next time I'm too tired to write a post.

Close Your Big, Bloodshot Eyes

OK, so I am running on a combined total of about 5 hours sleep over the past 2 nights. The dogs, the Sprout, manic anxiety, general stress, caffeine, and dry skin have robbed my of my precious. I am too tired to make sense right now - I've got like 5 things half written, but I just can't be bolloxed to finish them and add the links and what not. In the interest of taking a nap and still providing you, my dear readers with some compelling content, I give you one of my favorite nap songs, Alice Cooper's "Might as Well Be on Mars". The video doesn't thrill me, mainly because it's lacking in Alice-ness, but it's worth watching. I heard once that this is Uncle Alice's favorite of his songs. I can see why.

Alice needs to adopt me. Now. Seriously. Someone get on this for me. Let's make it happen.

Friday Free For All: Random Ramblings of Uranium J

I had a very up and down week. As such, I've been imbibing copious amounts of caffeine, feeling entirely ineffectual, and am on the verge of either freaking out or shutting down entirely. I would really like to have a long, hot bath and a glass of wine, but it just doesn't seem to be happening. Alas. A Vicodin would suffice. Or a Xanax. Or both. I'm not picky.

Why is this not true? Source

On Sunday, www.firstpersonnarrative.com set a new record for traffic. A whopping 44 page views! Keep up the good work, guys! This is my livelihood we’re talking about, after all. I really do treat this like a job. Show Uranium J some love. I also finished John Dies at the End over the weekend. It's awesome. Just go and buy it and read it. Now. Go. I'll wait . . . Got your copy? Good. Moving on, I started reading Syd Field's Screenplay. Since doing so, I have been thinking about Juno as a very good example of a well written script. Who am I? Seriously?

Cody came home from the hospital on Monday, and although he looks like he’s spent some time at Auschwitz, he seems to finally be on the mend. The only issue we’re having is his continual peeing in the house. I know it’s the meds, but I’m just so tired of it. As for the Gator, she is a criminal. She’s bored another hole in the fence. When I fixed the last one just before Christmas, I thought that was the end of her daring escapes. Not so much. So, back to the hardware store I go.

On Tuesday, an article I wrote about lighting was featured of www.offbeathome.com. Wednesday and Thursday are sort of a blur. Cleaning, blogging, more writing, baby, sick dogs, poop.



Poop in my bathtub. There’s a highlight. That Sprout has had some intestinal difficulties lately. She and I were in the bathtub last night, (Mommies take baths with their Sprouts, for those of you who don’t know) and she pooted. Well, I thought it was a poot. No. It was a poop. A runny, sawdusty looking poop. Into the water. 

SPLASH! 

I jump out as quickly as I can without hurting myself and pluck her out of the infested mire. It was nearly her bed time, so I cleaned her off and tucked her in before tending to the issue of the tub. 

The first thing that had to be done was draining the water. That proved to be easier said than done. I lose a lot of hair in the shower, and wouldn’t you know, the drain was pretty clogged, causing the water to trickle down the hole. Needless to say, disinfecting the bathtub turned into a  very labor intensive process. Screw diamonds, Clorox wipes are a girl’s best friend.

Don't tell me you can't buy friends. Source

Speaking of passing out, I have been having some seriously strange dreams as of late, and I am going to attribute this to the fact that I have been sick and taking cough syrup prior to falling asleep. It makes for very hard, deep, and restless sleep – full of all sorts of cinematic goings on. 

Earlier this week, I dreamed that I was in a Michael Cera movie, playing the jilted female best friend. I told him I was in love with him and after reciprocated and denounced his love for the as yet unseen MPDG we were in wrapped up in one another amidst a massive make out session. FYI: Dream Michael Cera is packing heat. But alas, we never made it to home base, as I was called away by an emergency with a friend. Bros before hos, except the female equivalent. You know what I mean?

No. No, no, no, no, no. Source

On a related note, “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends . . . “ always struck me as “If you wanna tap this, you gotta tap my friends first.” Seriously Spice Girls, that lyric could have made so much more sense. 

Last night, I dreamt that several of the Army wives I know were actually Jersey housewives and they were all related by blood or marriage. That was weird, but it was kind of fun because they were inviting me to do Real Army/Jersey Housewives stuff. It’s nice to feel included.

I want you all to feel included too! In the About section of the site, I said I want to record stories of everyday people for posterity. That means you! If you have a story, I want to hear it. It doesn’t have to be exciting. I am a fan of the quiet moments as well as the dynamic ones. Tell me about your cat. Tell me about your stamp collection. Tell me about your Aunt Mabel and her macramé. I don’t care. I want to hear it. So, send me an email at joyce.ann.underwood@gmail.com. Also, leave a comment and win a prize! Talk to me, people!

The Zen of a Clean Floor

And so it begins. Source

I have said it once (somewhere on the internet, I swear) that nothing makes me happier than having a clean floor. My whole house could be falling down around my ears, and if the floors are clean, I can "Keep Calm and Carry On."

It's strange, the happiness and the comfort I get from having a clean floors. It's also strange that I know this - have acknowledged it more than once - and yet, I can't seem to keep the motherfuckers clean. The dog debacle of 2012 has not helped matters, but even before I was ankle deep in things that vacated my dog's stomach, I couldn't manage to keep them clear of dirt. 

I could blame this on the dogs if I wanted. They do bring the dirt in, after all. That's not the problem though. The problem is that if I let the floor go for one day, it's a decadent spiral, and before I know it, I've got the Valley of the Kings in my living room - little doggy footprints dotting the sand. It's unpleasant to say the least. 

You try vacuuming this. Source

"So, vacuum it," you say. 

"No shit," say I. 

That's not the point. Of course it gets vacuumed. And mopped. And all the other crap I have to do to the floor before I can once again be at peace. The point is, that letting it go for one day would be fine. Those dogs bring in a lot of dirt, this is true, but they don't convert the place to an indoor sandbox over night. But one day turns to two, then to four; before long, a week has gone by and I'm picking sand out of my teeth. 

It's that first day, the break in the system that is my undoing. I do very well with consistency in my "systems". Once one part of the system breaks down though, everything becomes utter chaos. In a nutshell, I am not a problem solver. Lately, I am beginning to realize this more and more. One little thing in my life goes awry and I fall to pieces. With important things (read: things where people will see my reaction) I try very hard to appear that I am coping.

"You don't have what I need and you are the only people who carry it? *Smiles* Okay, I'll figure something else out. Thanks!"

Inside, I'm going:

 "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!! SonofabitchIhopeyoufuckingdieeatshitanddieyoufuckingcuntweevil!!!!!"

With things where people won't see me react, it's more of a slow disintegration by way of avoidance. 

Day 1: I'm too tired to do the floors.

Day 2: Well, they could go another day.

Day 3: Ignoring the floors by reading that book I've been avoiding for six months.

Day 4: Boy, this book is good . . .

Day 5: How'd all this dirt get in here? Guess I'll sweep . . . this is futile.

Day 6: Where's the vacuum? Shit. Out of vacuum bags.

Soon . . . Source

Day 7: What do you mean you won't have any bags til Friday?!?!

Day 8: I am a failure.

Day 9: I can pretend there's no dirt.

Day 10: Still pretending . . .

Day 11: If I don't spend any time at home, then I won't notice. Say, why don't I have any clean dishes?

Day 12: You know, I'm down to, like, 1 pair of underwear . . . think I'll go shopping for new clothes. It's easier.

Day 13: Vacuum Bag Friday!

Day 14: OMG WHERE DO I BEGIN?!?! HOW DID I LET THIS HAPPEN?!?!

Then, here we are. Source

And all of this could so easily be avoided if would just vacuum and mop every day. Or, if I became a better problem solver. Yeah. That one.

Uranium J and Her (Nonexistent) Microscope of Wonder

My entire house reeks of stale dog urine. 

It has crept under the laminate flooring and I have yet to have an opportunity to address this with the industrial strength dog odor remover I bought at PetsMart on Tuesday. Or Wednesday - the days have begun to bleed into one another. 

Now, the dog is vomiting water all over the house and I am fairly certain that I have inadvertently given him salmonella poisoning. That's really great, what with him already being sick and all. 

So, on a daily basis, I am surrounded with all sorts of bodily fluids and wastes. I'm beginning to feel like I should be on prime time. This is not including the veritable cavalcade of perversions that is the contents of my child's diapers. Oh, and the weird shit that's coming out of my sinuses. Can't forget that. I have pictures, if anyone's interested.

It's a really good thing that I don't have the money for one of those super high powered microscopes. With all of the biological waste that is currently filling my life on a daily basis, I don't think I could help wanting to look at slides of the stuff. 

I'm like that. I want to know all about it, but not for any real purpose. Just for the joy of knowing. If I had one of those microscopes, I would probably make a morning ritual of getting up, blowing my nose (or, if I were sick, as I am now, otherwise evacuating my nasal cavities), putting a sample of the contents on a slide, and spending a good ten minutes looking at it. Probably while having a cup of tea. Why? Just to see what's there. 

I know, I'm disgusting - but don't tell me you don't sometimes look at something gross and think "gee, I wonder what that would look like real close up".  

I'm that person who looks at something gross, and then totally has the possession to smell it. Oh wow! Looks like vomit! *sniff* Yup! Sure is! I will also eat "mystery crumbs" without first considering that they are, in fact "mystery crumbs". These are usually found on the kitchen counter or the dining room table, and they are usually assumed to have once been part of a pastry or a piece of toast. More than once, these turned out to be errant grains of kitty litter, back when I had a cat. Yeah, I know. At least I don't lick the things I smell. I do have standards.

I'm a curious type of person. I like to learn new things for the sake of learning them. I'm not so good at the practical application part. This is why, in hindsight, I found college to be an utter waste of time. I became an English major thinking I was going to learn all about books and the people who wrote the books and the symbolism in those books. Period. Then, I got to class and was bombarded with Critical Theory and Literary Theory andAnalysis and Freudian/Feminist/Modernist/Post-Modernist/Post-Colonialist/BlahBlahBlah reading of these books . . . and I didn't get it. I couldn't be bothered. I don't want to put all this book learning to "practical" use. (I question the practicality of the critical analysis of literature in that I have yet to see what doing so has done for the common man or the plight of the proletariat at large, but that's another matter.) I just wanted to read the books and learn how to make some inner city kid give a shit about reading them. I don't mind thinking about the books, but it gets to a point with the theory and whatnot that, for me, it sucked all the joy right out of it. Marxist theory? It's interesting, but really who needs it?

Sometimes I think I should have pursued science, what with my curiosity. I imagine it would have ended the same. though. I could learn about science all the live long day. Then, someone would say to me, "Cure cancer!" and I couldn't be bothered. "I just want to look at the cancer on a slide, guys. I might even help you cut it out of a guy, but since I've got a lousy hand for that sort of thing, I'll just hand y'all the scalpel and watch." 

If I had my microscope of wonder right now, not only would I be able to examine "mystery crumbs" before ingesting them (which would do me no good as I would just be looking for looking's sake, not to identify the origin of said crumb), I would also be able to analyze my dog's stool sample. It would do me no good, of course, since I only want to look at it. Identifying it would be someone else's job. I could bring the vet  on a real nice slide though. That would be helpful. Of course, in my present state of mind, perhaps it’s better that I can't diagnose him myself. It's a long time till morning and I would have to deal with the guilt all that time. I could go crazy between now and then . . . well, crazier.

Note: The Cody did not have salmonella. He did have an infection, and he spent the weekend in the hospital. I hope to be able to bring him home this afternoon. I will keep you all updated. 

Cody Corneilius, in better times.

Wheel of Morality, Turn-Turn-Turn: Who's to Blame When a Star Goes Out?

I have this habit - I won't call it a good or a bad one. As habits go, I would say it's in the neutral zone. When I'm in the checkout line at the store, I read all the magazine covers. If something really catches my eye, I might even flip through to see glance at the juicy gossip. 

This only happens if someone I really like is on the cover (Christian Slater, usually - I love him,). I never buy the things. I bought a Star once in the sixth grade (because Christian Slater was on the cover). It had Princess Diana on it as well. The next week, the paparazzi killed her. The guilt. Oh, the guilt. Never again. The only rag I would buy after that was Weekly World News because everyone knew it was basically a joke - and no one was going around harassing Bat Boy.

My habit of reading all the magazine covers has served to keep me well for informed nigh on many a year. I never watched Dawson's Creek, or any other teen soap opera.. We only got 5 channels when I lived at home: NBC, ABC, PBS, and 2 CBS(es?). The shows everyone else was watching came on FOX or the WB, so I was out of luck. We had satellite too, but was way more interested in watching MTV and VH1. 

Water cooler talk is important though, even in high school. I kept up with characters, story lines, and plot twists on my weekly trips to the grocery store. This practice has continued into adulthood. 

“Did you see American Idol last week?” I have never seen an episode in my life, but thanks to the supermarket checkout line, I can fake my way through that conversation just fine. It’s easier than having to explain that I don’t care about the things most people care about. Meanwhile, since I’m just looking, I don't have to feel bad about giving those creeps money and they keep me informed about the things that fuel small-talk.

Yesterday, I was standing in line, learning all about Jennifer Anistion's Twins, Johnny Depp's failing marriage, and a myriad of Kardashian news (really, who cares about these people?) when my eyes landed on the cover of The National Enquirer - The One Rag to Rule Them All.

You would think they would have the good sense to pull it.

I wonder if they are feeling guilty today? At the very least, it seems in poor taste, now that she's dead. I imagine that on Monday morning, they were all sitting in their offices and cubicles feeling pretty smug. “We called that one, didn’t we boys?” they say as they clink their mugs of coffee together. I hope that’s not what happened, but it probably did.

There are always the questions after these things happen, "Why did no one help her?" Maybe they tried. There's no way to know. No matter what the problem, a person has to truly want to get better before any kind of intervention is going to work. People want to blame the tabloids for driving stars to the edge of sanity and maybe they’re right. I haven't had the displeasure of being a celebrity. I think it's sad that fame disagrees with so many talented people. I also think it's sad that an entire industry is founded on disclosing the sordid details of these people's private lives.

Celebrities are just people though. They are human beings, just like you and me. They are not celestial beings with some great power that is unknown to mere mortals. They are just people. Very talented, very good looking people. As such, they have every right and reason to live and make mistakes like the rest of us. Few people in the world are going to step up and take my keys if I try to drive under the influence. No one is going to tell me, “Hey, J, you might not want to eat that donut/drink that coffee/take that ibuprofen, what with your liver and all.” It’s hard. 

So, why are we surprised when no one stands up to the likes of Amy Winehouse or Whitney Houston? How many people in this country drink or drug themselves to death every day? It’s not like no one knew they had a problem; no one had the balls to try and help them.

I'm not going to lie and say I don't have a huge streak of celebrity worship running through my veins. If I were to meet any of the people I idolize, I would make an utter fool of myself. It would be really sad. 

"You - do you know who you are?!? You're - you - Christian Slater! MARRY ME!!!" 

Yeah. 

Let's all just hope that never happens. 

Still, I don’t feel like my actions are detrimental to stars. I love talented people. I don’t really want to know when my favorite talented people do bad things. I have been known to groan “Nooooo. Not another drug arrest,” and leave it at that. I’m not rabid. I don’t want to know all the dirty details. I just want to know the good stuff. I would also like to think that I would have the balls to try to tell Christian Slater to knock it off with the coke, if ever I had the opportunity. (I’m pretty sure he’s clean now, though.)

I sound like I’m trying to justify my deplorable behavior, don’t I? I’m making all these excuses and caveats because maybe deep down, I know I’m just as wrong as everyone else. Would I tell Christian Slater about his coke snorting ass? I’d like to think so, but in reality, probably not. What if he got mad? What if he stopped talking to me? What if he hated me? I doubt I could risk being denied the opportunity to bask in his light. That’s a risk I bet few people would be willing to take. Why else would we continue letting these stars kill themselves? That leaves the question, who is really to blame for these things;  the star for being human, the tabloids for exploiting their humanity, or all the people like you and me who sit back and say nothing? 

I wonder.

Fan Girl Friday: Imps vs Hunks

I was watching some old White Stripes music videos today, and I was struck by just how impish Jack White looks. I was also struck by how much he looks like Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance.

There was a time (when love was blind, and the world was a song, and the song was exciting . . .) when I was head over heels in love with Jack White. I mean "Renee Zelwegger, I will boycott all your movies because you are dating my man" in love. Cus that's what you do when you are in high school and you find the relationship you were in since the sixth grade has crashed and burned.

Jack White

He was clever, smart, and read music - but I didn't smoke or drink gin (like he did). And oh my gentle Jesus, could he ever make love to a guitar! If you've never heard "Hello Operator" or "I Fought Piranhas", stop reading. Stop reading right now - go to the link, and then we'll reconvene.

I swear to y'all, I could crank "Hello Operator" in my 2003 Focus and the vibrations could get me off (which is more than the ex in flames ever could). If he could do that to a guitar, my God, what could those hands to a woman's body? And he referenced blues. And Citizen Kane. And shit I actually knew and cared about. He was a walking streak of sex.

But, like all teenagers, I was fickle. When I saw the video for MCR's "I'mNot Okay", I had a new scamp to be in love with. That video - more than the song even - blew my ever loving mind.

From the beginning, their videos have been overtly cinematic in look and storytelling. I loved that. In fact, I was convinced the first time I saw "I'm Not Okay" that it was a long form trailer for a new MTV movie. I was looking online "Where do I buy tickets? Where?!?!". You have to remember that Napoleon Dynamite had just come out, and the idea of MTV being involved with a decent movie was not all that far-fetched.

When I found out that MCR was actually a band, I bought tickets to a concert immediately. I had to see them. Gerard was the new Imp King. He could write bittersweet evocative love songs about vampires and zombies (that didn't remind us of Musetta's Waltz) and his lyrical prowess was amazing.

Gerard Way

Aside from their individual musical genius though, they could have been the same person. Black hair, ghostly pallor, pointy noses, devilish grins. Sure, Jack White's taller, and Gerard has blue eyes, but it's not like elevator shoes and contact lenses didn't exist. We all know Wes Borland's eyes weren't really black. We did all know that . . . right?

So, what's my point here? That I'm attracted to pixie men? Well, yes and no. Because I am, and I'm not. At the time, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes. Almost a decade later, I'm looking back on this love affair and thinking "I could not, in all good conscience, hop into bed with either of you." I'm sorry Jack. I'm sorry Gerard. It was fun while it lasted. It's nothing against you. You are still devastatingly good looking and talented guys. I think this is more about me. There's something so delicate and slight about their features that I feel like I would have to take on the masculine role, and I just want to feel like a woman.

Nowadays, I am totally fantasizing about Vin Diesel.

Vin Diesel

 Now, if you knew me circa 2000 when Vin broke on to the scene, you might be saying "Scuse me? Joyce lusts for Vin Diesel? Doth my ears deceive me?". And you would be right. While everyone else in my class was in love with Vin, I was all about Jonathan Rhys Meyers, or Bowie, or Nick Rhodes . . . maybe even Joaquin Phoenix. What can I say, I liked androgyny. I think it's a phase all girls go through. That, and I was under the impression that muscle bound beefcakes like Vin Diesel were more or less flat-lining between the ears - especially if all the airheaded girls I knew liked him. I wanted a sensitive, sophisticated, and intelligent celebrity with whom I could festoon my locker.

My appreciation of Diesel came years later and years apart. The first phase was when, under duress, I was left with nothing to watch except The Fast and the Furious. Desperate times called for desperate measures. By the end, I was desperate to have a guy who could pick me up by cupping one ass cheek in each hand. I never knew I could be that turned on by a muscley man, as I had sworn allegiance to Nancy-boys long ago. 

Phase two occurred some time in college. I had an ever so basic knowledge of gaming and had made friends with some gamers (of the table topvariety). I was regaled with the tale of Vin Diesel being an avid Dungeons and Dragons player. “I’m listening, “I thought. Apparently, as the story was told to me, when asked if he would be good or evil, he brought his fingertips together in front of his face, and peering over them with a devilish grin, he replied “I would be chaotic neutral.” I don’t even know what that means, and it’s still hot! Why? Because Mr. Muscle Pants is the biggest geek of them all. That means he’s smart. Not music man smart, but game theory smart, which may be even better.

 Now, just because I’ve outgrown my physical attraction to the impish men, does not mean that I am any less a fan. I may be an even better fan now that the fire in my loins has been put out, because now I can view their body of work more objectively. 

Example: I was not thrilled with MCR’s last album. I liked some of the songs, but as a whole I was always far more impressed their first two albums and the live performances from the tours of both. I like my MCR pared down and raw as opposed to slick and over produced. Gerard has this awesome ability to ad-lib lyrics in the studio; I think this is awesome. We could use a lot more “Early Sunsets Over Monroeville” and a little less of the “Nananana”. 

As for Jack White, since giving up lusting after him, the only thing I’ve questioned was that James Bond duet with Alicia Keys. I love her too, but that song and the video was a train wreck. I expected more, but maybe that had to do with what the studio wanted out of the song. Who knows. 

An Open Letter to Steven Page

Dear Steven, 

I will not say that I am your biggest fan, but I am a great admirer. My awareness of Barenaked Ladies and my interest in you began when "Pinch Me" came out. "That singer’s pretty hot, and he's got a great voice," I said. 

Later, as I got more familiar with your body of work, I realized that you were more than some hot guy with a great voice. I think you are one of the most fantastic singer/songwriters working today. Hearing you sing "The Old Apartment" or "Good Boy" makes me weak in the knees. 

That's not to say that I don't think Ed is an equally amazing vocalist - I cannot imagine you singing "Bank Job", for example. Ed kills it. But, as that song is totally his, your songs are totally yours. Ed could probably sing them really well, but it wouldn't be the same; there's only one Steven Page - and you are him.

Imagine my shock and sadness upon learning you had left the group. I don’t keep up with these things as diligently as I should, so when I found out it was already old news. 

I'm not asking you to sacrifice your solo career. I'm not really even asking you to go back to BNL if you are disinclined. I just want you to know that I would miss you if I went to a show and you weren't there. 

I read that you are much happier since leaving the band and for that I am glad. I would never ask anyone to give up their happiness so that maybe I could see the original lineup of BNL. I say maybe because even if you were to rejoin the band, who’s to say you would tour, much less tour to a place where I could make it to a show? 

However, maybe you could consider a reconciliation in the future? I hope you do - but until then, I promise to check out your solo work. I thought your rendition of “Hallelujah” at Jack Layton’s funeral was beautiful and I really loved what I’ve heard from Page One.

Please stay healthy and safe. As much as I would miss Steven Page at a BNL show, I would miss him more if he were gone from this world entirely. In light of the recent death of Whitney Houston and the many deaths that have plagued the music industry in the past several years, I feel compelled to close this letter by letting you know that I love you and I hope you are doing well. 

I know you had some issues with drugs in the past - I hope that you have dealt with this in an appropriate manner. Far be it for me to tell you to quit. God knows, we all have our demons. I just think you should be safe and sane about it. You are far too talented to go off and die on us. You have too much to offer the music, the fans, and the world at large. You do so much good for the world. 

After I was hospitalized for bipolar disorder and I don't know if I would have made it out on the other side without BNL . Thank you for that. Thank you for your honesty about your own struggles, for your voice, for your songs, and for simply being you. The world would be a much darker place without you in it.

Much love,

Uranium J

Movie Review: Valentine's Day Movies for the Rest of Us

I think we can all agree: He had it coming.

We all know it's a Hallmark Holiday. We all realized this fact in middle school when the pretty girls started getting flower arrangements, balloons, and giant boxes of chocolates and all we got was a lousy paper card and a box of conversation hearts. It's a holiday for the pretty people who bought into the thought that love can be bought. (And it can - show up on my doorstep with some flowers and a box of chocolates and even I will be veritable putty in your hands. Mold me, son.) 

So, what are those of us who are alone to do? We could watch whatever romantic shlock is going to be on TV tonight - or we could utilize the gifts that God gave us and see what's playin' on the ol' Netflix. There are plenty of great anti-romance flicks to choose from, this I assure you. So, go pop some popcorn, fix a thermos full of hot cocoa (or grab a bottle of wine - it's all about indulgence) and curl up in bed with one of these antisocial love stories. Conversation hearts optional.

Be warned: You cannot unsee this shit.

This is a love story - about a man and his dogs. Or, a man and his work. Or . . . OK, it's less love story and more tale of perversion, sadism, and murder. At least you can pretend the girls in the movie are the bitches getting boxes of chocolate. They get their chocolate all right. If you have a weak stomach or are in anyway averse to torture or coprophagia, I don't suggest you watch this selection. I can promise you this, The Human Centipede: First Sequence is the most clean and beautifully filmed gore movie you'll ever see. 

Liev Schreiber makes my bandersnatch creep.

If you want to feel cynical about the fate of long term relationships, this is the flick for you tonight. Liev Screiber and Helen Hunt play a married couple who through the trials and tribulations of life have become disconnected. They spend the entirety of the movie trying to foster relationships with just about everyone in their lives except one another. Eddie Izzard also stars as Schreiber's demanding and overbearing boss. Who can argue with Liev and Eddie in one movie?

Who knew sadism could be so sexy?

It's a period drama. That's Valentine's Day stuff. But, since it's about the Marquis de Sade, from whom the word "Sadism" is derived, it's all about violence, sex, violent sex, murder, torture, and varying degrees of insanity. Geoffrey Rush is amazing as the Marquis, while Kate Winslet redeems herself as the laundry lass who helps smuggle his torrid stories to a rabid Parisian audience. Joaquin Phoenix and Michael Caine round out the all star cast as opposing heads of Charaton Asylum with very different ideas about how to handle the inmates.

John Waters was the original bad boy.

Johnny Depp became indie gold in this John Waters flick in the part of Cry-baby Walker, a greaser with a heart of gold. It's a musical, but I assure you, it's no Hairspray. Maybe it's Hairspray's edgier little brother. Starring Iggy Pop, Ricki Lake, Traci Lords, and Susan Tyrell, Cry-baby is the type of love story that will make you forget all about the fact that you didn't get any flowers today. Instead, you'll wish you had received a bottle full of tears or something equally strange and repulsive.

Christian Slater can kill my frenemies any time.

If you're still bitter about those pretty girls who suck up all the love in the world, this one's for you. Murder, mayhem, and hilarity ensue. Post Columbine, this film would have never gotten the green light, but thankfully, it was made in the halcyon days of the 80s with a very young Wynona Rider and a very good looking (non coked out, still promising, and deadly funny) Christian Slater. If only Hollywood would realize, as I have, how very talented he is.

 As for me, I'll be curling up in bed tonight with some fresh fruit and Vin Diesel. I can dream.

(I know you're thinking "Aren't you married?" Yes, indeed I am. Sadly, my husband is in another country right now, and he doesn't really buy into the flowers and chocolates thing anyway which pretty much puts me in the same boat as the rest of you in the gifts and nookie department).

The Mind Boggles: Parenting and Pet Ownership Can Co-Exist

I am an animal lover. I have to exhibit great restraint (not my strong suit) in order to not bring home a cat or another dog. I am hoping that when my husband gets home in March that we can have a conversation about a cat. I think having pets around is good for that Sprout. One of her first words was “doggy”, and I know she loves my mom’s cat a lot more than her loves her.  On days like today, when I’m at odds for no reason, it would be nice to snuggle a kitty. But I have yet to give in to this kitty lust because I want my husband to be involved in the adoption process.

Since becoming a parent, I’ve encountered some disbelief with regard to my dogs. People cannot believe that I’ve kept the dogs with the baby – in the house! They are both large, mixed breed shelter dogs with very gentle dispositions. This never struck me as strange until I began to realize how many people get rid of their pets when they find out they are pregnant. 

I understand rehoming a pet if they are aggressive or if you find your little one has allergies. But sadly, I see ads on Craigslist that read “Gentle dog/cat in need of home. Love dearly, but must make room for baby.” I wonder if these pet owners truly believe that they cannot keep their animals once the baby comes or is this is something that’s expected of parents? The idea never once crossed my mind. I was confident that the dogs would assimilate well, and so they have.

Model citizens.

The day before I went to have the baby, we had to take one of the dogs in for a check-up. I took the opportunity to talk to my vet about my concerns for the dogs. I was worried that they were going to be resentful of the baby or otherwise feel neglected. He told me “for a while, they are just going to have to be dogs”. 

For the past year, that has been the case. They have gotten lots of snuggles, pets, treats, walks, and love, but not as much as before. They are in no way being neglected, but we are talking about dogs that slept in the bed with us every night, went to the dog park every day, and had our undivided love and attention. 

Now, things are getting back to normal. The baby has grown into a toddler and she loves those dogs. I am so proud that she’s learned how to be gentle with them and my mom’s cat at such a young age. She pets them, scratches their ears, and snuggles with them in the floor. They are very happy to have the extra attention and now we’ve become a big, happy, furry family.

If you are pregnant and have pets, please think carefully before rehoming them. With most animals, the transition can work. However, if you are truly concerned about the safety of your little one, I urge you to try to find your animal a safe and loving home. Shelters are so overcrowded and your pet will not understand why he’s been taken from his or her warm and loving home. If sending the animal to a shelter is your only option keep in mind that there are many no kill ones out there as well as non profits that provide foster homes until the animals can be rehomed.

When Cody's runnin' in the hall and somethin' splatters on the wall . . .

I will be taking That Sprout to a sitter for the whole day in a couple of hours. Why? My house reeks of sick dog. The Cody had an accident yesterday morning which although I cleaned it up has left the house with a particular odor. Last night he had another accident, so the stench is renewed. I will be intensely cleaning the floors today as well as taking the Hoarders approach to house cleaning (throw it all in a box and go through it a leisurely pace later).

I think that the Cody dog is doing a little better. I am happy to see that last night's accident was firm, normal looking poo instead of brown water. I had to trick him into drinking yesterday, but I am hopeful that if I keep up with the loving care he will make a turn for the better. I think he looks better, but I could be projecting. 

Molly Gator (the other, smaller, more mischievous dog) doesn't understand what's going on. She wants Cody to play and he really can't be bothered. He's shown some renewed interest in squirrells which is good and bad. It's good because that means he's feeling better but bad because he needs to take it easy. Even if he does regain a kind of homeostasis after this, we can't let him get too excited for fear that he'll have a heart attack. 


In the meantime, to supplement all the pills I've been giving him, I am also making him homemade dog food. I thought I would share the recipe for anyone who is interested:


Joyce's Special Cody Blend

• 1 cup dry rice (cooked should yield 2.5 cups)
• 1 pound ground chuck
• 8 eggs
• 0.5 cup canned pumpkin (plain, not pieb filling)
• Broccoli slaw

Cook rice either on stove or in rice cooker. In the meantime, brown meat and scramble eggs. Combine in large bowl and set aside. Cook as small amount of broccoli slaw to add to the mixture. When rice is done, add rice, pumpkin, and slaw. Combine and serve to the dog. 

Servings vary based on size of dog.

*Note: Broccoli can cause intestinal discomfort in dogs. Start with a small amount. If your dog handles it well, you can add more to every batch until you are using a whole bag. DO NOT RANDOMLY ADD VEGGIES TO YOUR HOMEMADE DOG FOOD! MANY VEGGIES ARE TOXIC TO DOGS! LOOK IT UP BEFORE YOU FEED IT TO FIDO!

Of Death and Dogs.

I had all these big plans. February 1 - I'm going to get my shit together and start blogging. Then, yesterday I came home ready to rock and roll, only time discover that my dog, Cody, was very sick. Now I am playing sick nurse to a dog in a house that reeks of death. Not my idea of a good time, but such is life. I'm trying so fucking hard to have a good attitude about it, but I'm really just feeling victimized.

I also feel like I don't have anything interesting of compelling to say. Alas.

Cody Cornelius 

Testing. Testing. 123.

Just to see what this looks like.